Fire Eye (18 page)

Jed and Alex make good use of the day. The pace has been cracking, with short breaks every hour as they head northwest toward the coast. They seem to be following a channel off to their right, sometimes dry but with the occasional billabong of grey-brown muddy water. The sun sinks toward the horizon as Jed veers toward the channel. He has already picked some giant spear grass for them to chew on. It offers a pleasant, sweetish flavour to refresh their mouths. They enter an area of sandy soil in the tropical woodland. Jed heads toward some sparse and spindly trees with large, oval leaves. The pear-shaped fruit has turned a yellowish green and he stops to pick them, dropping them into the billy.

“What are you doing?” Alex calls out when she notices his change of direction.

“Just collecting some food for us,” he replies as he continues to pick the fruit. “These are Kakadu Plums, the highest known source of vitamin C in the world. One of these little plums provides the same amount of vitamin C as a dozen oranges. These I recognise and the skin and flesh can be eaten raw.”

Alex picks one of the pear-shaped fruit and gingerly bites into it, discovering a pleasant, acidic taste. “That’s not bad,” picking up another.

“There’s a lot of bush tucker in this area, but I only know a few. We have to be careful as some things out here are poisonous. The plums are good though,” he says as he sees the startled expression on her face.

“It’s strange,” Jed says. “It’s been suggested that the lack of cultivation by Aboriginals was a sign of lack of drive or intelligence. But instead, they made the country feed them. Along the apparently barren sandstone ranges, food was plentiful—berries, fruit, herbs, bulbs, roots and vines were there for the taking. Even on the plains and the closed-in valleys, the vegetable life by billabongs and creeks was prolific. They lived in comparative luxury while explorers starved to death. They even sometimes planted and improved crops to cover the drought times. They farmed but weren’t farmers as such. Why would you want to become sedentary if you were linked to the land and the earth fed you sustainably?”

Alex can’t resist a dig. “More outdoor education?”

Jed realises he is rambling, so keeps moving. He stops at an area where a thin, twining vine is attaching itself to other shrubs and plants. The leaves are narrow with a tapered trifoliate structure and prominent central mid-rib. He draws his knife to dig down and pull out long, parsnip-shaped roots to add to the billy. “This is the Maloga Bean,” he says over his shoulder. “Roasted over coals, they taste like potato.”

Alex has listened to Jed’s views about the indigenous lifestyle and hasn’t argued about the bush tucker, but as he starts to move off she steps in front of him. “I believe I’m still point,” she says in a tone that brooks no argument.

He remembers the previous discussion and doesn’t argue. His estimation of her abilities is going up and Jed knows they will only survive as a team.

Alex acknowledges his silent acceptance with a nod. She checks the sun and turns a full circle to get her bearings before striding off, not even looking back to see if he is following.

Once again Jed checks the direction before following Alex. She sets a good pace, not so fast to wear them out but fast enough to cover ground quickly, about four kilometres every hour, Jed estimates. He notices she is fit, never asking for a break, never complaining, but keeping up a constant speed that picks a line across the ground to minimise effort and tracks. Jed knows they are leaving some signs that the Aboriginal tracker will find, but all they need is some undisturbed time at the site before facing the problem of getting out.

He lets her maintain the pace but wants to give feedback to keep her up to date. “At this rate we can make the site tonight if we take a shortcut.”

“What shortcut?” she asks, stopping suddenly and turning to face him.

Jed moves in front of her and kneels down to pick up a stick to draw in the dirt. This is the coastline, just over there,” pointing with his left hand and drawing a curving line in the dirt. “The swamp and river channel are over there, that greenery to our right,” pointing again and drawing the channels into the dirt to build the mud map. “Getting through the swamp will be slow. There’ll be mangroves, swamp grass, mud, crocs and other crap to slow us down. Our pig hunter may have got through there in a drier season, just got lucky or had an inflatable boat to get down the channel. For us, it would be quicker to go up and over the bluff.” He points to the left.

Alex turns toward where he is pointing. The bluff isn’t high, under a hundred metres but steep, even vertical in places. The smooth face of the rock is scarred by fissures, the occasional section of broken rock and dotted with small patches of scrub.

“We can be there before nightfall going that way,” Jed offers in gentle encouragement.

“I don’t do slopes well. A knee injury,” she replies warily. It was a kick to the knee from Decker after she had been downed by a punch to the stomach, but she doesn’t elaborate.

“Going up won’t be a problem if I lead,” Jed suggests with confidence. “Going down, I’m sure we can find an easier way. If you remember when we flew over it, we should be able to pick our way down the northern side. A hill stick to take some of the weight off your knee will help.” He lets her think about it without interrupting. The silence drags on as she considers the proposal. He waits, watching her look over at the swamp and then up at the bluff, weighing up the options.

Reluctantly she has to agree with his thinking. “Let’s go the bluff.”

He doesn’t bother asking if she is sure. He has learned she is decisive and can stick to her decisions. “Let’s go.”

Stuart has put in a hard morning repairing a pump and heads back to the homestead to dump his tools and enjoy a coffee before heading out for the next job. He parks the flat tray next to the side door of the house where he can drop his boots on the verandah. Slamming the door, he kicks the dust off his boots against the wooden steps and is about to climb up when he sees one of his stockmen riding toward him. He shades his eyes and recognises Charcoal coming at a canter. He waits in expectation. Charcoal rides in around the circular garden bed, reflecting a female touch, and reins in next to Stuart.

“Morning Charcoal, what brings you here this early in the day? Looks like you’re in a bit of a hurry.”

“Morning boss! Been busy with some cattle but found sump’n you best see,” Charcoal replies, his horse skittering sideways with impatience. Charcoal sits astride his horse with the natural confidence of the Aboriginal stockman. Standing in his boots he is a good six feet tall, well built with solid muscle under his almost black skin. He is alert of eye, with a black moustache tinged with grey. Tangled black hair under a battered Akubra shades a face wearing a serious and determined expression.

“Like what?”

“Better you come see boss.”

Stuart has worked with Charcoal a long time so doesn’t waste time asking useless questions. “Lead the way,” he agrees as he climbs back into the Toyota.

They head down the access road to the property, past the airstrip and hangar and swing left across country, winding their way between the trees and scrub. Stuart keeps at least twenty-five metres behind Charcoal’s horse. The horses are used to vehicles, even helicopters and aircraft, but he respects the animals and keeps his place behind them. Charcoal leads him to one of the dry channels that cut their way across the country and he pulls up on the edge, next to where Charcoal ties his horse. Charcoal beckons him down into the channel, standing in front of a patch of ground disturbed by tyre marks, his legs apart and hands on his hips.

“People bin camping here boss. Two people, one night. Came in from over that way,” pointing with his arm. “Left that way,” pointing again.

Stuart looks at the ground, walking around to have a close look. He can see the vehicle tracks in, the disturbed ground where two swags had been laid out, the tyre marks where a vehicle had headed out and come back then headed out again.

“Boss, you follow me again.” Again the tone expects no dissent.

Stuart nods and climbs back into the Toyota. Charcoal mounts his horse and heads west toward the homestead, picking his way through the trees. He stops, waiting for Stuart to pull up next to him and points to the ground. “Wheel marks stop here,” he says, waving with his hand. Stuart’s eyes follow the direction of his hand. “Footprints from now,” Charcoal continues. “Follow me.”

Stuart eases the ‘cruiser slowly toward the homestead, following Charcoal carefully as he leans over in the saddle to study the ground. Finally Charcoal reins in, dismounts and ties his horse to a branch. He waits for Stuart to join him then walks over to another tree. He points to the ground at the base of the trunk where a slight disturbance of the leaf litter can be seen. There are also two marks where the heels of boots worked their way into the ground over a period of time.

Stuart looks at the marks around the tree, the tracks to and fro and then over at the homestead. Someone sat here recently, probably the night before last. The night of the pigs! He contemplates the implications but it doesn’t make any sense. He flicks his head at Charcoal. “Back to the camp,” he commands and Charcoal nods and remounts. They follow the tracks again, in reverse this time and faster, back to the campsite in the depression. This time Stuart doesn’t get out of the ‘cruiser and Charcoal stays mounted. They study the tracks in deep thought. Stuart picks out the outgoing wheel marks and puts the ‘cruiser back into gear, following them to one side with Charcoal tracking parallel on the other side.

They follow the tracks relentlessly, through the trees, around scrub and across creek crossings until they come to the main northwest track. There the tracks join fresh tracks from yesterday morning, when Jed and Alex had headed out. Stuart stands next to them, feeling perplexed, while Charcoal waits patiently, sitting astride his horse. Were these strangers following Jed and Alex or is it coincidence? He has no idea but his gut feeling is that something is going on, something out of the ordinary. It leaves him with an uneasy feeling, but nothing he can pin down. Whatever is going on, he has trespassers.

He looks up at Charcoal, “Go back to the homestead! I want you to take some help and follow the tracks. Find out what’s going on and get back to me.”

Charcoal nods, reins his horse around and canters off toward the homestead.
Good man,
Stuart thinks.
Doesn’t muck around, just get’s the job done.
He stares down at the tracks for a while longer, then climbs back into the ‘cruiser and heads back to the homestead, lost in thought.

Alex leads the way along the escarpment, looking for an easy way up. It doesn’t look like there is going to be one. The rock slopes steeply down, worn smooth by eons of rainy wet seasons. The surface is scarred in places with fissures and cracks, but there is nothing to provide a safe pathway all the way to the top.

“Maybe the swamp is the only way to go!” Alex calls back to Jed who continues to follow her while they both scan the face. He has been watching her all afternoon and must admit she has done well. The pace has been fast without tiring them out and she has tried to keep her prints under the patches of grass, even though it isn’t a natural way to walk.

Jed looks back over his shoulder along the rock face, then back in the direction they are heading. He spies a small scrubby tree in the distance clinging to the rock face about halfway up. “Try along there below that tree.”

They work their way around the tangled scrub and dead, fallen branches cradling the base of the rock until they are underneath the tree clinging in forlorn isolation to the rock above their heads. They stand side by side and look up to inspect the water-worn cleft.

The first few metres are smooth and unbroken. Above that the angle of the slope decreases slightly and rough rock frames a fissure that gradually widens to provide hand and footholds. “That might be the best we will find,” he suggests.

Alex looks up, then left and right and reluctantly has to agree. To either side the rock face is worn smooth by the rain washing down every wet season. Where it isn’t smooth, the vertical faces of fractured rock make free climbing a dangerous option. Here a weakness in the rock has surrendered to the power of running water over a long period of time. She doesn’t like it but the alternative is a lot worse. She hasn’t said anything but doesn’t like the thought of the swamp at all. “Can we get up there? The first bit looks hard!”

The hill looms above them like a silent hulk with its smooth, steep face hidden partly in the shadows of the late afternoon sun. While it isn’t high, its presence dominates the landscape and reeks of great age—old rocks, old stunted trees and shrubs and coarse tussocks of grass clinging tenaciously to any cracks their roots can find. They could have been among the first species to grow in the world of the Dreamtime. The sky above is shading to a darker blue above a sunlit stillness. This is a rock that doesn’t want to be climbed and deters visitors with its brooding sullenness. If it is going to be climbed, it will require teamwork.

“Leave it with me,” Jed tells Alex as he looks around. He sees the trunk of a scrubby tree on the ground. He walks over to it, pulling his knife out of its sheath. He chops off the remains of the branches poking out from the trunk as dead reminders of the life it once supported. He leaves a few centimetres near the trunk as footholds. He is left with about five metres of dry straight timber. Bending down, Jed cups his hands around the end of the log, lifting and dragging it over to the face. “I’ll need some help.”

Alex joins him and together they drag it toward the escarpment. Close to the face they lift it onto their shoulders then push it higher, walking the end up the face until the tip reaches close to the opening of the cleft.

“Just grip that between your legs and ride it all the way up,” Jed says without thinking. He sees Alex step aside, put her hands on her hips and give him that narrow-eyed look again.
What now!
She is upset again or pretending to be. He feels uneasy that anything he says can be taken out of context so easily. He wants to say something in defence but doesn’t. He’s wised up and his mouth stays firmly shut. Besides, he can’t decide whether she is genuinely offended or just giving him a hard time again. Time is pressing as the sun creeps lower toward the horizon. It is easier to let it slide. “Sorry, it’s not what I meant! We’ll have to climb it or crawl up until we can get some hand and footholds.”

“That’s a lot better,” Alex responds. She knows perfectly well what he meant but enjoys the opportunity to make him squirm a little. He’s so bloody confident! She knows he’s almost enjoying the whole situation! It is time someone challenged his maleness. He’s obviously had an easy run for a long time. At the same time, she is glad he is confident and capable. It makes her feel a little bit safer. Alex has to admit she enjoys the rare feeling. “Let’s go. You first.”

Jed accepts her call. Another bonus point! If he goes first, he can anchor himself and haul her up if necessary.

He climbs onto the log, not bothering to sit, and edges his way up, trusting his balance while Alex stops it from spinning as it settles under his weight. Just as he reaches the end of the log, a crevice appears to his left. Coiled in there is a copper and black apparition, eyeing him with cold, unblinking eyes. He recognises a rock python, a delicacy that in many localities would be thrown on the cooking fire with slavering expectation. Others would revere it as a sacred snake and avert their eyes.

He hesitates for a few seconds, checking it again. The last thing they need is a run in with a Taipan! He keeps climbing as it slithers away through a fissure in the rock, deciding not to mention its presence, and reaches up to the beginning of the cleft. He establishes hand and footholds, loosens his belt and pulls it through the loops of his jeans. “Your turn!” he calls down.

Alex eyes the log warily, but isn’t going to show any fear. It is narrow and she isn’t keen to follow Jed’s example. She sits on it and wiggles her way up until she is close to the end. He reaches down with the belt dangling from his hand. She establishes solid footholds, keeps one hand on the log and reaches up to grab the belt with her right hand, hoisting herself into a standing position so she can find a firm hold with her left hand for the climb to the top. As she follows him up the cleft, it becomes wider with solid hand and footholds that lead them up and over the lip of a small, ancient waterfall.

Jed drags himself over the lip, then reaches down and takes a firm hold of Alex’s wrist and looks down into her eyes. She looks back without blinking. Both feel the connection from working as a team. He hauls her up onto the top of the jump-up and they stand in silence to look around.

They are on a small plateau that widens out toward the southwest. The plateau is clothed by low, prickly scrub, grassy tussocks and the occasional stunted tree, clinging to life using the water from wet seasons that eventually finds its way down slope to the country below. Patches of smooth rock and sandy soil are visible between the clumps of grass dotting the surface.

They head across the plateau, crossing an area of open spinifex country. Jed suddenly stops in front of a cylinder of rock rising about a metre out of the ground. It points into the sky at a slight angle, a bit like an eye tooth in shape. It rears up out of a bare patch of sandy ground from which it appears all the loose rocks have been cleared. He stands silently in front of it, lowering his head slightly in contemplation.

“What’s up? What’s that?”

Jed continues to stand in silence, looking around at the scene, taking his time before replying. “I think what we have here is a Cha-nake stone.” He hesitates, unsure of the correct term. “This looks like an Ungoodju stone,” he tries again, struggling with the pronunciation and the correct term. “It is a place of great significance to the Aboriginal people. Imagine a band of warriors approaching this spot,” indicating with a wave of his hand. “Their bodies would be oiled, brave with painted ochre bars across their chests and wild goose plumage. Their hair would be coned behind their heads, decorated with parrot feathers, with their hands clasping stone-tipped spears. They would stop close to this spot in a line, standing shoulder to shoulder. Their leader would come forward respectfully with his hand upraised. He would gently touch the stone with his head bowed to lay bare his heart as his forefathers had done since the beginning of time. When he was finished he would step back and allow each man to come forward in turn to do the same, to pay his respects and make his prayer. When they were all done, they would head back out into the wild to continue their lives on earth.”

Alex watches Jed as he explains the significance of the site. Again he is revealing a different facet, far removed from the macho bushman or the responsible school principal. He is connected to the land in a way Alex cannot understand, but recognises is significant. He speaks of ancient warriors in a way that shows understanding; a connection and a familiarity as if from a past life. Alex hasn’t expected Jed to show such sensitivity to a different culture and time. He turns back toward her, his back to the late afternoon sun, hands on his hips. In spite of the shadow across his face, his eyes gleam with a strange light. Alex feels safe in his presence, but a slight shudder of fear goes through her. She is glad he is on her side.

“Let’s go!” Jed commands as Alex takes a last look at the stone. “That way,” gesturing with his hand to allow her to take point. “This is a special place and we should leave it alone. Follow the road less travelled.”

It’s a reference to the lyrics of a song. Alex knows what the song is about but isn’t sure what Jed is referring to. Is he referring to their current journey, his impression of the life Alex has revealed or to a personal dream for a change to his own life? There isn’t enough time to think it through just now.

Soon they pass a jumbled collection of weather-worn boulders huddled haphazardly together. Jed leaps progressively upward from one to the other, hoping to catch a view of what is ahead. A shadowed cleft catches his eye. He glances down into it. A shapeless, dusty pile hidden in the recesses of the cave attracts his curiosity. He bends down to look more closely, putting his hands on the rocks to either side and edging closer until he can peer intently at close range. Alex follows him gingerly down and leans over his shoulder to get a better look.

The empty eye sockets of a dirty, dried-out skull, balanced on a pile of bones and carefully tied together with the remains of bark string stare back at them. A dull gleam and unnatural pattern of curves catches Jed’s eye. Poking his knife into the mass of bones, he lifts the item up.

“It’s a chain. Looks like an old copper necklace or something. Jed is tempted to hook the chain out of the pile of bones. The ageless isolation of the site and his sensitivity to the indigenous culture stops him. He’s been invited to share some of their low-level stories in the past and respects their trust in him. Someone of significance I would guess,” he suggests in a hushed and reverent tone as he lets the chain drop back onto the dusty bones. “We shouldn’t be in this place!”

“It’s eerie!” Alex announces. “I feel like we’re trespassing.”

“I agree totally.” Jed scans the rocks for a safe way down. “Let’s get out of here and keep moving.” He would like to explore the whole area then sit and ponder the significance of the site, but recognises Alex is right. They are trespassing on a site they will never properly appreciate. He turns to set the direction for their advance.

It is only a few hundred metres before they stand on the far edge of the plateau where it drops down to the white sands of a beach and an expanse of blue ocean, calm and still under the late afternoon sun. The beach is fringed on both sides by mangroves and mudflats. To their right they can see the channel cut off from the sea, slowly being choked by wet season mud washing down from the hinterland. It forms a protective barrier around the aircraft hidden under the trees. A tickling sensation of excitement courses through their bodies as they look down onto the scene.

“We’re almost there,” Alex whispers. Her voice is hushed by the beauty of the view and the anticipation of reaching their goal.